Words Unspoken
by Jane Doe
Summary: Gris and Sara at a crime scene as seen through my eyes. Please R/R!


Words Unspoken 

By Jane Doe 

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or the characters! I'm just obsessed with them. 

Author's Notes: I wrote this to release some frustration that Grissom STILL hasn't told Sara about his hearing and the fact that we have no idea about the characters' past. I mean we all write fics that explain certain actions, but I am ready to see it on the TV! Those writers are a lot better than me. I wrote this fic in my POV. Yep that's right MY POV! And it's limited, very limited since I know nothing for sure because the big shots at CBS are mean and don't explain diddley squat to us! The case that they are on doesn't exist nor does their actions but it could happen, so it's not like by the end of the story that make Geek love in the Tahoe. (Wait that would be nice too!) Anyway here it is. Please tell me what you think. Even if you think I am totally off my rocker! 

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I watch the brunette as she gathers her gear. She is wrapped tightly in a winter coat but lacks her usual tousle cap. The air is cold and I wonder why she forgot it. I see in her eyes that she seems farther away tonight than usual, like she is in another place. Maybe a place that is safer or a little brighter than here, maybe that is why she forgot her hat. I do not know. I can't reach her or the man she is with for that matter. His guard is up as well. Sometimes I am permitted a look into her soul but a glimpse of his soul is such a rarity I wouldn't know what to expect if he did bear his soul to me. I do not know why it troubles me to see him so closed off to the world but it invades my thoughts. Her pain and anguish invades my thoughts. It happens every time I see them together. 

My eyes follow them over to the crime scene. It's a jumper; another one. Third one this week and all real suicides. Nothing sinister about it, these people just wanted to die on their own terms. No murders parading around as suicides. Just the jumper and the weight of the world on his shoulders that made him jump. The victim is female this time, the last ones were male. The first jumper they were assigned to was twenty years old and jumped from the hotel he was staying at with his girlfriend. He left a note that said he could not live without her, the girlfriend, so the two investigators scooped him up from the ground below. The second male was far in debt and left a note inscribed in the gravel on the roof top of his work building. He wanted to get away. Now this third one. She was a mere girl at the age of fifteen. No note graced the scene, but it would soon be found I am sure. Jumping was the only way out for them. No one was there to stop from taking the leap. 

The crime scene is relatively calm, only one officer is close by. The officer is surrounded by the heat of his patrol car and becomes oblivious to the dreadful cold just outside his window. The man looks to the woman but says nothing. Nothing needs to be said. He lifts the tape for her and she ducks under it. They move in perfect synchronization across the crime scene with their matching silver cases. She goes this way to process the evidence on the body and he surveys the perimeter. They were getting used to the graphic scene that played before them, if that was possible. She knew what to do and so did he. They have worked together countless times and yet I don't believe that this is why they work so well together. It has something to do with attraction and understanding. They are perfectly symmetric. The right half of the butterfly mirrors the left half in every way and they move together to accomplish flight. I wish they just would realize it. 

His flashlight glides over the asphalt revealing what is left of the jumper. His movements are timed and predictable. He moves from the outside in. That is the way he approaches everything. He knows on the outside you can test the water with your foot before you plunge into it's depths. He also knows he can use a lifeline when he gets out too far in the deep water. He uses that line a lot, more frequently than the woman. She finds herself drowning sometimes, I can see it. I see him close his eyes for a brief moment to block out the image before him. Just when I think his wall is crumbling he quickly opens his eyes and begins to collect the bits of evidence covered in blood and brain matter. 

The woman isn't nearly as capable of hiding her feelings, before she begins she closes her eyes and tilts her head to the night sky. I watch her closely. There is pain in her heart that is played out by her body language. She releases a heavy sigh that sends a cloud into the cold air. 

This attracts the man's attention. He turns to her but she does not acknowledge his eyes as they creep over her thin frame. I see something in those blue eyes that I find puzzling. I have observed those eyes at many crime scenes with others. His eyes are always different with her. Always. Those eyes are full of something that is not seen with his other colleagues. Is it concern, compassion, discomfort, disappointment, or something else so simple it became complicated a long time ago? Before I knew the two, before they knew how much they meant to each other? What is in his eyes? I cannot see, can the woman? I find myself frequently getting lost in their being. I want to know her secret that she keeps so locked away and I need to know his secrets that are heavily guarded by his heart. 

I notice at first he doesn't move. He seems content in watching her. She drops her head and pulls the camera to her face. I know she cries behind that camera. I don't blame her. The scene before her is so morbid. I wonder if someone hurt her badly, and the sight of a girl so young that gave up on the world reminds the woman of her own demons she must combat everyday on the job. How hard is it for her to wake up? The real question is who hurt her? Why? She has tried to be detached but we all know that it is impossible for her. The man may hide what he feels but he hurts inside too and cannot deny the anguish when he sees her is in pain. The lines in his face tell me so. Those lines marked by time and knowledge of the grim. Those lines will never disappear they are a part of him now, they will be forever; like her soul. 

His dark secrets that keep his true self locked away confuses me. What made him place one brick after until a wall was constructed to keep the world out and himself in? Does it have to do with security? Those walls have to be lonely. I know he fears this woman. Why, I do not yet know. I have seen him push her away. I see the hurt in her face accompanied by frustration and confusion when he does that to her. He has been hurt himself, but again I do not know how. I will never know what bothers those two closed off people until they are ready to open up; to the world, me, and each other. I do not think anyone will know until they tell each other first. I have never seen such tormented people. It saddens me. I feel sorry for what they encounter everyday at work and then to be alone with no one to talk to. It has to be hard. 

He finally moves. As she snaps the endless gruesome pictures he comes up beside her. She does not take her mind off the task at hand. He brushes passed her, letting his arm touch her back. She does not stiffen or move out of the way, instead she seems to lean into him just slightly. The contact is mutual and welcomed by both parties. There is no logic in his contact with her body. He had plenty of room to go around with no contact whatsoever, but he chose to touch her. This action is full of so much I don't understand in a logical sense. He does this but will only push her away later. I wish he would stop. 

The flashing of the camera lights bring me back to the woman in the dark night as she moves around the body now. She is careful in her pictures I notice. They are arranged and planned. She is not careless with her task, she is compassionate with the pictures as if the girl that lays dead would be offended of anything less than a perfect picture. 

My eyes fall once again on the man. He has pulled a tool from his kit and walks to the body as she takes the pictures. He uses it to pull a piece of string from the sidewalk under the girl. He knows it came from the girl, because it matches her clothing. He bags it anyway. My attention is captivated by their movement and beautiful intelligence of something that eludes me. To have an eye for forensics is amazing. I do not possess their patience for the evidence. I would not last as a criminalists. Burn out would be inevitable. 

As if he longs to touch her again, he moves back to his field kit to place the evidence in a secure place. When he stands up he comes up behind her with his chest touching her back. Again not a word is spoken. She stops the pictures and hands the camera over her shoulder to his awaiting hand. It amazes me that she knew what he was wanting without any words being spoken. I think they both knew that she has taken enough pictures though. 

His fingers linger on hers long enough for her to turn around to look at him. She doesn't smile but neither does he, because neither one of them want to taint the air with a fake show that everything is okay. It's not. Everything is not okay. When will it be? They stare at one another completely lost in each other. I would like to know what each are thinking when they look into each other's eyes. He breaks the connection that he started and places the camera down. 

Without a word the woman walks away from him and finds a seat on the sidewalk far away from the disturbing dead body. Her figure collapses as she adjusts herself on the cold pavement. With her knees drawn close to her chest she begins to rock back and forth. I know she is cold, my own body screams for me to seek out a place of warmth but I cannot tear my eyes from them. He soon joins her. His body is closer than necessary but he needs to feel her as much as she needs to feel him and so they sit in a pleasurable company of each other's warmth on a cold night. 

I just realize that I have been watching them for a little over two hours. The officer in his patrol car has fallen asleep. I should go, leave them alone under the stars but I am drawn again to his eyes as they take in details of her face without her knowledge. She stares above to the Nevada sky. The sky is clear and full of stellar bodies. I am grateful for a full moon and the clear night so I can witness his stares and her glances. His proximity to her narrows as he shifts to get into his pocket. 

Her attention is drawn back to him. After rummaging in his pocket he fishes out something. He pulls out a pair of gloves. He takes her small hand in his and pushes the glove on with so much care. I know his hands are warm compared to her frozen ones. She watches him again with a look of confusion and pleasure. He grabs the other and again pushes the glove onto her hand. He takes her hands in his and rubs them furiously. She smiles at him and to my surprise it is greatly returned. He nods his satisfaction and scoots closer to her never releasing her hands from his grasp. It is such a simple gesture really, but I am sure it means a lot more to those two people. She looks at him as he takes his turn admiring the sky. She smiles more to herself then takes her eyes heavenward. I have never seen such an exchange in the absence of words. 

They sit in silence until the coroner arrives to take away the dead girl. The silence is broken and the words sadly break my reverie. I gather myself and start to walk back down the dark anonymous alley of which I came. I am just another Jane Doe. No one special to those I just watched for hours, but they let me in their world and even for the briefest of moments, I found that it was wonderful. They do not know me nor will they ever know me, but I know them. What I witnessed was enough to make my heart sing. I know that everything is okay and will be okay no matter what may happen from here on out. Even if they never tell one another their secrets, the understanding will remain. 

As I walk down that alleyway into the abyss, I begin to realize that even though she sometimes will find herself drowning, he is always there to pull her back in to the safe harbor; his arms. And no matter how high that wall might run, she can and will always find a crack to let herself in. My heart leaps in my chest for the second time that night. I know that no matter what is said between those two people in anger or frustration, I know that the words unspoken are much more powerful and everlasting. 

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THE END 


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